


Wasted

by ceywoozle



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Ficlet, Gen, John's POV, Stag Night, UST, Wasted Opportunities, angsty i guess, i dunno, tsot, whatever this is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-01
Updated: 2014-10-01
Packaged: 2018-02-19 12:59:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2389100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ceywoozle/pseuds/ceywoozle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>posted this on tumblr last week and forgot to stick it up here. nothing terribly earth-shattering. ficlet. thing. whatever.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Wasted

**Author's Note:**

> posted this on tumblr last week and forgot to stick it up here. nothing terribly earth-shattering. ficlet. thing. whatever.

The night of the stag party and it is simultaneously the best and worst thing to happen to John. He stares at the legs gangling across from him and his own limbs feel out of his control. It’s easy like this, with the chairs drawn close to each other. Who did that? Was it him? He’s not sure. The alcohol was him, but he’s not even sure if it was intentional of not. Some quiet voice goading him onwards with that extra shot. Then two. Then three.

Something about ash. Always something about ash, with Sherlock.

Then the stairs. Did that happen? Yeah. He nearly fell asleep. Too much alcohol. He should have been more careful.

And now, knees nearly touching between them. Sherlock’s name in his own wavering hand across Sherlock’s forehead.  _Am I nice?_ Yeah, yeah you’re nice, Sherlock. _  
_

It’s such a short distance really. Such an easy distance to navigate and close in the end. The warmth of real flesh bleeding through, so much warmer than he expected. It doesn’t seem real, everything swaying haphazardly around the edges. He wishes he were sober, that Sherlock were sober, except they’d never have made it this far, then. A whole hand on an entire knee. It’s surreal. He hopes he still remembers this in the morning. Leaning over, sliding down. Close.

"I don’t mind."

"Any time."

_Really? Really, Sherlock?_

He stretches out and his own feet feel as though they’re a millions miles from his body. He legs feel detached. He stares at them, perched on the seat beside Sherlock and wonders how he’s going to get the rest of himself over there, too.

This is everything. This night. This is everything. The last chance. He knows it. He knew it before and he knows it now and tomorrow…well, don’t think about tomorrow.

"Woo hoo!" says Mrs Hudson from the door. "Client!"

***********************************

His head is going to split and he doesn’t know whether he wants to kill Greg or himself more. Last night… _Jesus…last night._

Sherlock is stumbling behind him and John can smell him, sweat and vomit and alcohol and he knows that he’s no better. He needs a shower. He needs water. He needs to sleep in his bed, on his mattress, because a concrete floor was not a good idea.

He has a sudden flash of long legs extending past his vision and a sudden heat on the palm of his hand. A remembered pressure.  _Oh God._  What has he done.

_No. No. Stop it. Don’t panic._

_"Any time,"_ he remembers, and it’s a piece of bobbing mast drifting by in the tide rising to swamp him.  _What did that even mean?_

"Well, thanks for…um…you know. An evening."

He’s prodding. Unsure of what will come out of the depths that surround him. That’s _not obvious, is it?_

"It was awful."

Something stops. His heart, possibly. The world. His life. Again. This is not an unfamiliar feeling but it is…final. This time. This was the last. He’s not giving himself any more chances after this. He has to keep going. He has to stop. _  
_

"Yeah," he says and it’s hard to talk. Water. He needs water. "I was going to pretend. But it was. Truly."

"That woman. Tessa."

 _Tessa?_ Half-remembered. Unimportant. She wasn’t the point of last night and John feels a brief stab of annoyance at her name being mentioned at all.

"Most interesting case for months. What a wasted opportunity."

And _yeah,_ John thinks.  _It was._


End file.
